Wherein the beats can range from 400 bpm down to 1-2 beats in a 24 hour period rendering it 'well jittery!' There are unconfirmed reports of Random Thud club nights lasting for several months
I was thinking of drawing a complex baroque portrait of Brian Ferry in a bath chair but then thought 'f*** it, I'll draw some pants instead'! http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2010/jul/31/michael-holden-all-ears (Article by Michael Holden) Buying some drinks to take outside, I noticed that the pub had filled with men who were exceptionally big. Not in the gym-fit sense, but in the genetically vast sense, and all wearing sensible shoes. So who were they? Cops? Rugby players? Some unholy hybrid of both? The only thing I learned for sure was that they knew a bit about Roxy Music.
Man 1 (clearly the leader) "They weren't that good on Jonathan Ross."
Man 2 (whose function seemed to be to orchestrate the collective response to anything said by Man 1) "No, they weren't."
Man 1 "I went to that 80s thing, that festival. He was there, what was he called? Howard Jones! He was all right. Carol Decker, never had much time for her. Kim Wilde …"
Man 2 (eyes wide)"How was she?"
Man 1 "Well, you still would."
Man 2 "Not half."
(Rest of group "Wahey!")
Man 1 "Then it's Rick Astley. I tell you what, though, he's got the chat. People loved him. Blokes were throwing their pants on stage!"
Man 2 "Mental!"
Man 1 "I saw Ferry do a solo gig at Wembley 20 years ago. You wanna hear the other stuff, but he's just doing his solo stuff. But they weren't all that on Jonathan Ross."
Man 3 (rhetorical) "Well Eno's not there is he?"
Man 1 "Tell you what, I tried to get tickets for Manilow, for the wife and mother-in-law. 249 quid!"
Man 2 "Fuck off!"
Man 1 "Yeah, but what can you do?"
Man 2 (reconciling himself to Manilow's price prerogative) "Yeah."
Whilst drawing Paul the psychic octopus for the Guardian the other week I wrote that we'd rather 'missed the octopus zeitgeist' by it being published a week after the World Cup final, then realised (under the Secret Garden influence) what a splendid name it would be...
(article by Michael Holden) Even in pubs where football is not shown, the miasma of related popular opinion still wafts under the door.
Drinker 1 "Seen the octopus on the TV?"
Drinker 2 (sarcastic) "You mean Paul?"
Drinker 1 "Eh?"
Drinker 2 "The fucking World Cup octopus, it's called Paul."
Drinker 1 "You've seen it, then?"
Drinker 2 (annoyed) "'Course I've seen it."
Drinker 1 "What do you reckon to it?"
Drinker 2 (joking again) "I reckon it knows exactly what's it doing; it knows exactly what's going on. It's fucking laughing at us."
Drinker 1 (as if regarding something sublime) "It picks the winners …"
Drinker 2 "After careful consideration?"
Drinker 1 (attentive to his companion's disdain) "It's just a bit of fun, you know?"
Drinker 2 "You think you're any different, the decisions you make? 'Oh, I'll have another pint of lager.' You think you've got the edge on Paul?"
Drinker 1 "How do you mean?"
Drinker 2 "I mean we're no better. Stick a thing in a jar and give it an option; everybody thinks it's hilarious. And if they're laughing then they can forget they're in a jar of their own."
Drinker 1 (missing the point and trying to keep things amiable) "It has its own tank."
Drinker 2 (hostile) "How's your tank?"
Drinker 1 "Eh?"
Drinker 2 (catching himself) "Forget it, I got carried away."